Page 11 of Hallow Hill at Halloween: Part One

In the middle of another little jump, she managed to say, “Gizella. I’m Gizella.”

“Lovely name. Come in.”

Once inside, she surveyed the environment. “So, this is where you live,” she breathed like it was sacred ground.

I was at a loss. It was a charming English cottage. Not the palace in Beijing. Not the Taj Mahal. Not Marjorie Post’s estate in Florida.

“Um. Yes, it is. I waved toward the kitchen. I thought we’d be comfortable in the kitchen. This way.” I continued talking as we walked. “My helper, Olivia, has made biscuits. Would you like tea?”

“Well, sure, that would be wonderful.” I nodded. “But wine would be better.”

“Oh.” I blinked three times before realizing that customs about drinking at ten in the morning were purely human. “Of course. Red or white?”

“I’ll have Chateau Cheval Blanc, 1947, please.”

“Oh. Ah. Okay. Let me see what I can do.” I gave Liv a WTH look.

“Let me see if they have a bottle at the pub,” said Olivia. “Be right back.”

“Oh. You could just conjure it!” said Gizella.

“Well, ah, no. Conjuring isn’t in my took kit.”

She looked confused. “But you’re the magistrate!”

“That much is true.”

Olivia was back in less than a minute. Thankfully. “The mayor says he can acquire a bottle in short time.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “Good. Alright.”

So why did she look so uncharacteristically concerned? She edged toward me until she could lean over and whisper. “It’s six-hundred-sixteen-thousand pounds.” I coughed. “The major says it will be his pleasure to gift it to you?”

The translation of that was that there would be a time in my future when the mayor would come to me with an opportunity to forgive the debt.

I was shaking my head when Evie breezed in through the back door. “Morning, everybody.” Her smile was radiant.

“Oh my gods! It’s the Irish queen,” Gizella said. “In the magistrate’s house having biscuits and wine with me!”

Evie’s smile fell. “What?”

I looked at the ceiling for a second while I gathered my thoughts.

“Evie. I wasn’t expecting you. This is Gizella. She’s here to interview me.”

Evie turned and looked Gizella up and down. I could see by the look on my daughter’s face that she’d taken an instant disliking to my interviewer. “Why?”

“For the forum,” Gizella answered. “Oh my gods! The queen spoke to me,” she said breathlessly as if we weren’t there.

“It’s for a, um, forum?” I said lamely.

“Forum?” Evie asked, looking for all she was worth like a TV soap villainess.

“Rita Rules!” Gizella squealed.

Clearly Gizella wasn’t good at reading people.

With eyes comically wide, Evie repeated, “Rita. Rules.”

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